The following day, the air in town felt heavy, as if the sky itself was holding its breath. Elara spent the morning in a haze, her own words from the rooftop echoing in her mind like a broken record. “Don’t be a fool,” she had said. “I don’t see you that way.”

She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the look on Julian’s face—the way his expression had crumbled before he managed to smooth it into something neutral. She’d hurt him. She knew she’d hurt him. And the worst part was that she’d done it on purpose, because hurting him felt safer than admitting the truth.

By noon, she couldn’t stand being in her room anymore. She found herself wandering toward the town square, to the familiar places they usually frequented together. She told herself she wasn’t looking for him, but her eyes scanned every dark-haired head in the crowd. She needed to see his unruly hair and his pale skin just once more—not to apologize, she told herself stubbornly, but to make sure things weren’t as broken as they felt.

Maybe they could just go back to normal. Maybe they could pretend yesterday never happened.

She found him near the fountain, bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun. Julian was leaning against a stone pillar, looking out at the horizon. He seemed smaller somehow, his shoulders curved inward in a way that wasn’t characteristic of him.

When he noticed her approaching, Elara’s heart hammered against her ribs—that familiar burn of nerves she always mistook for irritation.

She expected him to be angry, or perhaps to ignore her as she had ignored his feelings. Instead, he did something worse: he smiled.

“You’re still here,” he said softly.

“I live here, Julian,” she replied, trying to maintain her mask of indifference. “I was just heading home.”

“Right. Of course.” He looked back at the horizon for a moment, then turned to face her fully. “Elara… about yesterday.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she said quickly.

“I think we do.” Julian stepped closer, his features soft in the twilight. “I know I’m a lot to handle sometimes. I know I say too much and feel too much and probably make you uncomfortable. And I know you like to pretend you don’t care about things. But I want you to know that I meant what I said. I don’t have any reservations when it comes to you.”

Elara looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Her throat felt tight. “You’re being dramatic again.”

“Maybe,” he laughed, a short, tired sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “But life is short, you know? I’d rather be a fool for saying how I feel than live in silence, wondering what could have been. You should try it sometime. It’s better than being…” he paused, searching for the word, “unchanging. Static.”

“I’m not static,” she snapped, finally looking at him.

“You are,” he said gently, reaching out. His hand hovered near hers but didn’t quite touch. “You’re so afraid of things changing that you’ve turned the whole world into shades of gray before it’s even had a chance to be colorful. But it’s okay. I understand why. Change is scary.”

“You don’t understand anything,” Elara whispered, her voice trembling.

“Maybe not.” Julian’s hand dropped back to his side. “But I know you, Elara. Better than you think I do. I know that you’re scared and that’s why you push people away. I know that you care more than you let on. And I know that yesterday, when you said all those things, you didn’t mean them. Not really.”

“Don’t tell me what I mean,” she said, but there was no heat in her words.

“I’m not trying to.” He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I just… I’ll wait. I’ve already waited this long, haven’t I? A few more years, a few more decades—what’s the difference?”

“Don’t wait for me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I told you, I’ve already rebuked the idea.”

Julian didn’t argue. He just looked at her fondly one last time, a look that would remain embedded in her mind for years to come—the way the dying light caught in his dark eyes, the way his mouth curved into something halfway between a smile and resignation.

“I’ll see you later, Elara,” he said.

There was something final in the way he said it, but Elara was too stubborn to acknowledge it. She watched him turn and walk toward the crosswalk. Her hand was halfway raised, as if to call him back, to finally say the words she was ignoring. But she let it drop.

She watched him step into the street just as the setting sun dipped below the buildings, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.

Then—-

The screech of tires came first.

Then the distorted sounds of the crowd screaming, a cacophony of voices that blurred together into something inhuman. People rushed forward, their faces contorted with shock and horror. Elara stood frozen on the sidewalk, her feet rooted to the ground.

Under the eyes of many, the boy who held her captive was gone.

His existence, which had been so vibrant and warm and solid just moments ago, was suddenly forcibly ripped from her life.

Someone was screaming his name. It took Elara a moment to realize it was her own voice, raw and desperate and too late.

The world didn’t turn black.

It turned gray.

All of it—the sunset, the crowd, the fountain, the pillar where he had been standing just moments before. The colors leached out of everything like water draining from a sink, leaving behind only different shades of gray, infinite and suffocating.

And in that gray world, Elara finally understood what Julian had meant.

She had been so afraid of change, so afraid of admitting she cared, that she had turned her world gray long before tragedy did it for her.

But now it was too late.

Now the gray was all that remained.